


Routinely.

by themeinsideofme



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bleh, Emmy just loves her Meister so much, confused platonic/romantic feelings, i think it came out fine, just a short fic about my OCs, wrote this to just get more in tune with my characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themeinsideofme/pseuds/themeinsideofme
Summary: Every morning, there's a halo hanging from the corner of her Meister's four-post bed.





	Routinely.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've wrote about my OCs!  
> Emmy has some really confused feelings for Cami, but they're strong nonetheless.   
> Feedback is welcome of course!

She had a peculiar way of going about her morning routine.

Maybe she had OCD.   
But that was unlikely.

First thing was the curtains. Right out of bed, each and every curtain was tied aside. Each white curtain with a pink ribbon, and each pink with a white. Each curtain was folded to be tied at a circumference of 3/4 of an inch, with seven equal folds. The morning sunlight pouring in from her window would stir Emmy from her sleep. It wasn't as if she minded it, though. More time to get ready for school. More time for breakfast. More time meant she was less likely to be late from class.

And more time to spend with Cami.

Next would be the almost ceremonious nagging for Emmy to put pants on.

"A lady should always be properly covered. She never knows when someone will come calling! Spare yourself the embarrassment!"

Then there was the trudge of pink bunny slippers trailing to the kitchen. Then the water faucet. Then the bubbling of the coffee machine. By then, Emmy would have finished pulling on the god forsaken pants. She'd yawn, stretch, and follow her beloved Meister's path to the kitchen.

Dark Columbian, double strength. That's how Cami always took her coffee, every single morning. Her sleep tousled lilac hair fell in waterfalls to her hips as she stretched up on her bunny-clad toes, trying to reach the shelf.

She was so impossibly tiny.

Her painted fingertips would just barely miss the mug, and Emmy would lean over her gently and grab it. She couldn't help but notice the way Cami smelled, and god, was it good. Her conditioner left a soft scent of roses, while Cami herself gave a melody of marshmallows, of hair dye, of coffee. Her brown eyes, coloured contacts not inserted yet, would turn to Emmy and shine. Those eyes left her weak. Every. Damn. Time.

"Yeah, it's fine, Shorty. Haven't you learned by now?" She would retort before Cami could even mutter a sound.

The pastel mug, not unlike an Easter egg, would then be filled halfway with the near boiling coffee. Two tablespoons of sugar. Stir it five times clockwise. Five times widdershins. The milk filled up what the coffee did not. By then, the cup was nearly overflowing.

Cami would pick it up gently, as gently as she could, but spills were inevitable. A small gasp would escape her soft, baby pink lips as the muddled brown peppered the bottom of her pink, ruffled nightdress.

After cleaning herself up, she would occupy the right hand seat at their table, pulling out the seat next to her for her Weapon. As Emmy sat, Cami would close her eyes and inhale deeply, taking her first sip. She would begin to talk in between drinks. Usually, it was about her dream from the night before, asking Emmy what her opinion was, what it could possibly mean. Her opinion mattered.

Sometimes, when a dream was deemed too disturbing to talk about, or they had just completed a mission, Cami would talk battle strategy instead. What had they done wrong last time, what had they done right, and how could they improve for next time?

This was the morning ritual that kept Emmy convinced this wasn't some weird recurring dream.

By the time she would finish, it would be 7:00, exactly.

The mug would be rinsed and dried, set back on the shelf. But just barely. The pot would get turned off and unplugged, rinsed and dried, then put away. Any mess on the counter would be wiped up as well. Food wasn't an issue, they would grab something on the walk to class.

The clock would now read 7:14. Cami would then, of course, scold Emmy for not having begun to get ready yet. "A true lady is always on time, if not early." Emmy didn't mind. Not at all. Anything to hear her Meister's voice again.

As the clock turned to 7:15, Cami would lock herself in her bathroom, and wouldn't emerge for another 45 minutes. She would be spending her time inserting those pink and blue contacts, fixing her hair into buns, and applying makeup that frankly, Emmy thought she didn't even need. To Cami, everything needed to be perfect. She was a lady.

Emmy sighed softly, pulling herself up from her chair, and placing her water glass on the counter next to the sink. She trudged thoughtlessly back to her room, passing Cami's open door on the way. She could never resist a peak.

Everything was so very neat, so very girly, and so very frilly. The exact opposite of Emmy's room. That's why they went so well together. And there, perched precariously on one of the bed's posts, was a powder blue bow.

A bow that, everyday, was placed between her buns.

A bow that was more like a halo. 


End file.
